


A Brotherly Arrangement

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Come play, Dirty Talk, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Filthy, Injury Recovery, M/M, Mycroft is the Iceman, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Serious Injuries, Shameless Smut, Sherlock is a Size Queen, Sherlock is a little perverse, Sibling Incest, Smut, Underwear Kink, holmescest, until he isn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-18 21:34:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14860698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes spend a weekend at their parents' house. Mycroft, all Iceman here, unexpectedly discovers that Sherlock has taken a strong interest in a certain piece of his clothing which leads to a special agreement. No sentiments, of course. Well, things might change.





	1. Chapter 1

Mycroft stopped dead when he had climbed the stairs of his childhood home to get to the second floor. He saw his brother hurrying to his own room, and he had clearly just come out of Mycroft's that he hadn't locked behind him as there was simply no key for it. What had Sherlock wanted there? He didn't know about another blackmailer in Sherlock's life he would have to give ammunition to… Mycroft couldn’t make out if he had something in his hand.

The older brother waited until the door had closed behind the younger; Sherlock had obviously not noticed him, and then he entered the room the teenage Mycroft had lived in since Musgrave had burnt down for years before he had left to move to London on his own.

Nothing in this room reminded of his childhood though. It was a plain, neat guest room. He looked around. Everything seemed to be like before. Nobody had touched his laptop (bad memories here…) or his briefcase as he was certain, and his suitcase was in the same place. What had his brother looked for?

Then he shrugged and took the reading glasses he had come upstairs for out of their case and returned to spend some time with his parents and read the newspapers on this quiet Saturday afternoon.

*****

After the revelations about Eurus, his relationship with his parents had been more than difficult for a few weeks. Things had gotten better when the elder Holmeses had joined him and Sherlock in Sherrinford, listening to the younger siblings playing their violins together.

Mycroft had accepted the accusations and the wrath of his parents; he had deceived them for so many years after all, and he had gladly taken the olive branch when Mummy had reached for his hand. And when she had asked him and Sherlock to come home for a weekend, he had been all for it, no matter how busy he was. Sherlock had agreed as well and so they had arrived, separate from each other, on Friday evening, and would stay until Sunday afternoon.

Of course Mycroft would do some work as well. Even though he hardly went to any of his offices over the weekends, he also never really had this time off. The security of the kingdom didn’t know weekends or holidays. Reports would be sent to him like every day and he would read and memorize them, drawing the necessary conclusions and making the connections like only he could.

But apart from this, he did plan to get a little rest.

*****

Sherlock was very quiet when they drank tea together, hardly looking at him. He spoke when Mummy asked him something but otherwise he seemed to be rather absent. Probably it was torture for him to spend so much time with the family, especially with Mycroft…

Things had not changed a lot between them. They had never spoken about the events in the prison and Mycroft had not contacted Sherlock for any cases. But when they had spoken about this weekend, Sherlock had been tame and polite, which was more than Mycroft had expected. He wasn’t a man who admitted mistakes easily but obviously he had not looked very good in his dealing with their sister. He wouldn’t have been upset if Sherlock had blamed him for Eurus' crimes.

But it seemed he was just indifferent towards him like he'd always been. Fine with him. Mycroft didn’t like any private hassle. Which was probably the reason why he didn’t mention that he had caught Sherlock coming out of his room.

When he had excused himself to go upstairs for an hour after tea, he fell asleep over reading a report. This hadn't happened for ages but well, he was a middle-aged man with a very demanding occupation after all and he wouldn’t have bothered if he hadn't woken up with an erection once more, painfully straining against his flies. He couldn’t remember much of his dream but he could clearly see a very round male bottom in his imagination. Not for the first time. Since Sherrinford, it had happened rather often – an unwelcome, unwanted erection, mostly in his sleep, caused by dreams of an inviting male backside. Obviously the near-death experience had woken up the never-missed primal needs of his body.

He sighed. He had really thought he had gotten over with that for good. He had not searched for satisfying his – always rather mild - physical needs for many years. With whom? He couldn’t be bothered by goldfish. He didn’t want to have any more stiff conversations with men he didn’t give a damn for just to be able to have some meaningless sexual contacts with them. And the sheer thought of hiring someone to take care of him let him cringe. His body obviously was not quite over it though so he would trouble his right hand with this task in the shower. Usually he just ignored his arousal but perhaps he had to take care of it to silence it again. He had planned to take this shower after dinner but he could as well do it now before he went back downstairs.

He undressed and opened his suitcase to store his pants in the laundry bag, and wrinkled his forehead when he noticed something. There were socks and the shirt he had worn yesterday and two pairs of pants. Nothing was missing. But something was strange about one of the pairs of black pants (he always wore black pants of the same brand). He took them out and had a close look at them. They were too neatly folded, even for him. After a short moment of hesitation, he sniffed on them.

After his suspicion had been confirmed, he let himself drop onto his bed.

_Well, well… Now we do know what you wanted in my room, little brother…_

He sat still for a couple of minutes, deep in his thoughts. Then he came to a decision. A crazy one for sure but one that he didn’t doubt would be welcome.

*****

“Would you grace me with your presence for a little while, Sherlock?” he asked when they had gone upstairs a few hours later. Their parents slept on the ground floor so they were alone.

“Not tired of family affairs for tonight, brother?” Sherlock asked with raised eyebrows.

“Not quite, no. Won't keep you long.”

Sherlock shrugged and followed him into his room.

“Take a seat.” Mycroft gestured at the chair next to the bed.

“I'm tired, Mycroft. What is this about?”

“A suggestion. An offer.”

“What for?” Sherlock looked at him with a suspicious expression.

“An arrangement.”

“Can you be any less clear?” Sherlock's eyes began to look furious but Mycroft could sense something else behind this mask. Fear. Frightened anticipation. Hope?

“A sexual arrangement,” he said bluntly.

“A what?! Are you out of your mind?!”

“I would appreciate if you toned down a bit. Our parents are old but not completely deaf.”

Sherlock swallowed. “Why the hell…”

“I believe you stole my underpants – or rather replaced them with a new pair, thanks a lot for that - for a sexual purpose?” Mycroft continued, eying his brother closely.

Not that this had been necessary; the detective blushed furiously. But he wouldn’t be Sherlock if he had not tried to talk himself out of it. “Don't be absurd. I needed it for an experiment…”

“Yes, I believe you. Not. So. Do we have a deal?”

“But… I… Why… You…”

“Very eloquent. I discovered today once more that my body is in need of some relief. This has happened a couple of times since… Eurus' game. I wanted to take care of it myself but then I found out why you had been in my room. And I had a rather interesting dream and it might have very well been about your backside.” A very round, very pert backside. He should have known…

Sherlock turned an even brighter shade of red. “You… Sorry, but…”

“So as I don't like to waste my time with senseless conversations for earning sexual favours I believe you are the best choice to deal with them. I think we can try it out and see if it's to our liking and then agree on a long-term arrangement.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my fucking asexual Iceman of an older brother?!”

Mycroft ignored him; he didn’t even flinch at the vulgarity. “I am well aware and I'm sure you are as well that this agreement has to stay between the two of us so no mentions about it towards your good friend John Watson, let alone this pathologist who pathologically keeps leering after you.”

“Are you completely…”

“Alright, I'm done. You can say _yes_ and we try it out now or we'll never speak about it again.” It was a bluff but he was sure Sherlock would fall for it.

Sherlock slumped down on his chair. “This is so embarrassing…”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes!”

Mycroft allowed himself a small smile of triumph. “Fine. I suggest you take a shower now. You can use mine. I'll be waiting for you here.”

*****

“It wasn’t the first time, was it?” Mycroft asked when Sherlock came back into the bedroom, a towel around his waist, his hair still damp, glittering with wetness, black curls snuggling against his forehead. His brother was a sight, who could deny that. Tall, broad shoulders, a chiselled torso, and what Mycroft could see of his legs was very pleasant as well. And this bottom… Of course it was covered now but Mycroft had no problem visualising it.

“I don't know what you mean,” Sherlock retorted, fumbling with his damp mop of hair.

“Then I'll explain it to you. You have keys to my house so you will have gone there to rummage in my personal belongings, such as my underwear.”

Sherlock didn’t answer at once but sat down on the chair again. “Never wondered why they stayed looking unworn?” he asked then, his voice calm but the visibly hefty throbbing of his carotid was betraying him.

“As a matter of fact, no. For how long have you been wallowing in this little vice?” Mycroft asked, casually opening his shirt buttons. He had taken off his tie before Sherlock had come back.

The younger man shrugged. “Quite some time. Years.”

“And you've used to come back to nick new ones when my smell had faded?” He was indeed wondering why he had never noticed that his pants had constantly been replaced. That Sherlock had avoided being caught on video didn't bother him. It wasn’t as if he observed what was going on his house in his absence when there wasn’t an alarm. And there had never been one…

“Quite so…”

“You could have asked.”

“Oh really? _Brother, may I please ask for some worn underwear? I like to…_ ” He broke off, blushing once more.

“Yes, indeed, which unspeakable purposes do they serve for you?” Mycroft got up from the bed to get rid of his trousers and socks, but he left his pants on for now…

Sherlock cringed. “Don't want to talk about that.”

“I can imagine. Unspeakable indeed,” Mycroft mocked him. “Come here then.” The politician – for a lack of a better description of his unique function - lay down on the bed, stuffing both pillows behind his head.

Sherlock hesitated but then he stood up and slowly walked towards the bed. He sat down next to Mycroft, rather close to his feet, but not close enough to touch him with his legs.

“So. What are your preferences then?” Mycroft asked him.

“Preferences… I have no idea. It's not that I'd have ever done anything…”

In fact Mycroft was rather sure Sherlock did have some ideas, very vivid imaginations in fact, but he wasn't ready to be open about them as of yet. Nevertheless he tried it again. “Alright. What are you thinking about then when you obviously use my underwear as stimulation?”

“Oh, Mycroft…” The younger man squirmed.

“Don't be childish, Sherlock. If we are to satisfy each other, we'll have to know these things.”

“You start then…”

“Fine with me. I obviously like to have my penis stimulated. And I used to be the dominant part in anal intercourse when I very rarely engaged in sexual activities.”

“Never thought you would at all… I never saw the signs…”

Mycroft raised a neatly trimmed brow. “You expected me to walk around with a silly grin and messy hair hours, days or even weeks after it occurred then?”

“If you put it like this… Rather not. So it means you are a total taker, not a giver…” His tone clearly said that this didn’t surprise him in the least.

Mycroft considered this. “The men I was with were simply expedient and replaceable. They were not emotionally linked with me. Their pleasure was not my priority.”

Sherlock opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something but he shut it.

Mycroft continued the conversation, appreciating the fact that his brother had spared him speaking out the obvious – _what about **me** then?_ “I'm willing to grant you with some attention as well of course. I don't want to simply be served by you. We both know you are not exactly a benevolent-, let alone an obedient person, least towards me. You won't do anything without having it reciprocated and I'm far from forcing you into anything. This is not about sentiment which I'm sure you are aware of but it's also not about me just using you.”

Sherlock nodded. “Fine with me. It's some sort of business then, right?”

His tone was neutral and his face a mask of indifference, but Mycroft knew him well. Well, not as well as he had thought obviously as he had never even considered Sherlock could be sexually attracted to him. But now that he knew that, he could see beneath. He was aware that Sherlock might overstep the mark, as sentimental as he used to be with his so-called friends. He almost revisited. Almost. Then his look fell on Sherlock's nearly naked, perfect – apart from some scars - body and his extraordinarily handsome face. “It's a deal. I believe one we can both profit from.”

“May I start?”

Mycroft glanced expectantly down on his nearly naked body. “I'm laid out for you, aren't I? So show me what you can do. And remove this towel, would you.”

*****

He felt a pull in his groin when Sherlock got completely naked, carelessly throwing away the fluffy towel. His cock was long and thick and his balls hairless and round.

He lifted his bottom to get rid of his pants but Sherlock held him back.

“No. Give me a second.”

Mycroft gave him an indulgent smile. “Go ahead, brother mine. Enjoy your fetish.”

And his smile got wider when his little brother buried his face in the fabric of his last left piece of clothing, nuzzling his nose against his rapidly hardening cock. Sherlock let out a small groan and licked over the pants.

A mocking remark was on Mycroft's lips but he chose to keep quiet. If that was what turned Sherlock on, he shall have his way.

When Sherlock had finally stopped licking and lapping at the black fabric and fumbled Mycroft's cock out of its soaked confinements, it was painfully hard, dark-red and leaking at the tip, his pre-seminal fluid certainly having added to wetting the pants.

Sherlock stared at what he had revealed with big eyes.

Speaking of _big_ … “Is it to your liking, brother mine?” Mycroft teased him, literally able to see Sherlock's mouth water.

“It's huge,” Sherlock choked out but his eyes didn’t look at all terrified. He rather looked as if he couldn’t wait to get his sinful lips around the massive crown of Mycroft's member and his long fingers wrapped around the thick shaft.

It was flattering to see such a reaction on his handsome brother's face, Mycroft had to admit. He knew he had a lot of flaws with all the hair on his body and his nowadays rather flat but still too soft stomach, not even mentioning his receding hair or simply his age. He didn’t normally think about these things as they didn’t matter at all to him, but in comparison with Sherlock's toned, smooth, hard body, his mass of curls and his young, uniquely handsome face it was hard to miss. But he definitely had the bigger, thicker cock of the two of them (even though Sherlock's meanwhile hard dick was far from being small) and his heavy, big balls were a sight as well. He also usually never thought about that but these were special circumstances. He was the winner of this agreement – so it would really come to it – but Sherlock wouldn’t have to complain too loudly, either…

“Well, why don't you see if you like to deal with it?”

Sherlock's hand was engulfing his dick at once and he very carefully stroked his sweaty palm up and down.

“You can grab it harder,” Mycroft encouraged him. “I'm sure you know from your own experience that it won't break by being pumped.” He saw Sherlock's cheeks flush and reminded himself to keep his tongue under control. Mocking his brother in such a situation and be condescend would possibly end the deal before it had even started. Sherlock was a virgin after all and he needed encouragement, not teasing.

But Sherlock didn’t seem to mind and started stroking him a lot harder now.

Mycroft couldn’t help but moan and caught a very amazed look from his brother.

He couldn't refrain from raising his brows once more. “This is sex, Sherlock. It is pleasurable and not even _I_ can always control my reactions when I'm getting aroused. You should get used to that.”

“I'm not complaining at all,” Sherlock rumbled in his deep voice. “I was just surprised that my hand has such an impact on you.”

“Well, it can go on doing it,” Mycroft said. “And if you're curious how my cock tastes…”

He couldn’t even finish the sentence before Sherlock's hot mouth took in a third of his dick at once and his baby brother clumsily but nicely suckled at it, and Mycroft moaned a tad louder this time, reminding himself at once to keep himself under control. Their parents' bedroom was not only not on the same floor but also on the other end of the house but still…

“Oh, Sherlock, that's very good. Just don't forget to watch your teeth.” It was better to mention it than to suffer from a scratched-up dick… Then Sherlock's tongue made contact with his slit and his head started spinning severely.

It didn’t last long. Only half a minute of increasingly hard sucking, frenulum-teasing and hard pumps and Mycroft bucked up and shot down his brother's throat without being able to warn him beforehand. And instead of backing away, coughing and spitting, as it would have been understandable at his first time, Sherlock swallowed his load, and above all he climaxed into his hand and on his own thigh while still sucking the last drops out of him and fondling his swollen balls with the other hand. Neither of them had made a loud sound; it had been more of a simultaneous guttural groaning.

Mycroft panted while his softening dick was sliding out of his brother's mouth, licked completely clean but dripping from saliva, and the sight of Sherlock's wet, swollen lips and dazed eyes was more than satisfying.

He looked at the mess Sherlock had made with his own orgasm. “You are very easy to drive over the edge, Sherlock.”

“Very convenient for you I'm sure,” Sherlock retorted and dried his hand and leg with the towel.

Mycroft smiled. “Indeed. But I am willing to reciprocate what you just did, don't worry. As I said, this won't be a one-way-street… So… What do you say now after this first try? Do we have a deal?”

Sherlock cleared his throat (probably from some pubic hair…). “I'd definitely say so.”

“I do appreciate that. We'll need to set some rules and we'll always have to make discreet appointments so John Watson doesn't get suspicious.”

“Your house, no sentiments, no cuddles,” Sherlock concluded dryly.

His tone was neutral again but Mycroft didn’t trust that. He knew it wouldn’t be so easy. Obviously he had played a big part in Sherlock's sexual fantasies for a long time and he doubted that the physical side was all Sherlock was interested in, and that was not what he was looking for… But it was definitely worth a try… “Quite so. I'll take care of the supplies we'll need. As I am completely healthy and you are untouched, we can forego condoms if that's agreeable with you.” In fact he had seen recent blood tests from Sherlock a few weeks ago and he knew there hadn't been any drug escapades since this forsaken Magnussen-case so he could trust that Sherlock was clean and had not used any needles. And Mycroft had had a thorough check-up only recently. “I'd say once or twice a week when we both have time. We'll see to which practices we are both amenable and perform them, consent assumed in every case.”

“Of course. We'll… explore what we both like, right?”

“Absolutely. Well, I think we should sleep now. Each in their own room. And we'll better refrain from any more activities until next week.” He really didn’t want their parents barging in…

Sherlock looked a bit disappointed but he nodded. “What about… You know, being in contact over the phone?”

“Our phones are both safe, be assured. But we'll only be in contact to set dates.” It was better to be safe than sorry. Who knew if John Watson, or, even worse, Mrs Hudson, would get hold of Sherlock's phone one day… And what were they supposed to text about anyway? They weren't exactly starting a _love affair_ …

“Fine. Goodnight then. And… thank you.” With this Sherlock had grabbed his clothes and the towel and had left the room.

Mycroft got up to have another shower. He had not expected such interesting developments in his life when he had come here. He was aware of the risks, but he was sure they would be able to deal with them, and he could see lots of nice experiences on the horizon. After all he hadn't even had the chance to explore Sherlock's amazing bottom…


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get filthier.

“Oh, hi, Sherlock, there you are!” John smiled at him. “How was it, being locked up with your brother for more than two days?”

“Oh, um, fine.”

“Fine?!”

“Yes, sort of. Nice to spend some time with the family.” Sherlock avoided his look. He put his bag on the living room floor. The freshly rebuilt flat was still clean and looked like a strange copy of 221B. They had moved in a little more than a week ago. John and Rosie were sleeping upstairs in now two small rooms, Sherlock in his bedroom as before. The arrangement was working fine. Sherlock or Mrs Hudson looked after Rosie when John worked in the clinic, and sometimes Molly came or John brought the girl to her, and if neither of them had time, she spent a few hours with a trusted babysitter. He and John had had long conversations about the past and John had profoundly apologised for the violence he had performed on Sherlock and he had gladly forgiven him, eager to move on and pick up their life as the detective and his helpful best friend.

His home situation was really nothing to worry about. But the situation with his brother was a completely different story… A story he couldn’t share with John or anybody else. And what would he have told him anyway? _Oh, John, by the way, I'm going to spend one or two evenings a week with my brother from now on. – Oh, that's nice! – Yes, we will fuck all the time._

John wouldn’t understand. Of course he wouldn’t.

Not that Sherlock did. He hadn't gone to his parents to come back being a part of a more than dubious sexual relationship with his own brother.

But of course he had longed for said brother for longer than he would ever admit towards Mycroft. It had started when Mycroft had lost his childhood-overweight with sixteen. Sherlock had been nine… Mycroft had always been his idol. So smart, so cool, so superior. And all at once, so _handsome_.

Sherlock had fought his increasingly disturbing feelings for his brother with all he'd had. It had helped that Mycroft had left their home so early to go to university and had hardly come home anymore. It had made it a lot easier to avoid him finding out about Sherlock being hopelessly in love with him.

But it had driven Sherlock crazy. He hadn't wanted to bond with any boy of his age or any older boys he had met in school. He had only craved for his brother, and when he had been sixteen himself – Mycroft had already started working for the government – he had searched for forgetting these feelings by getting high from all he could get his hands on. Which had not worked at all; in fact it had brought Mycroft back into his life, coming for him and dragging him out of drug houses, sometimes by his ear. Sherlock had always taken the chance to cling to him then, getting as much physical contact with him as he could without raising suspicion.

And as smart as Mycroft was, he had never figured it out. Sherlock had perceived the drugs were very bad for his health and had found some sort of release with solving cases, and he had been snarky and cold to Mycroft to cover what he was really feeling. And it had worked just fine. Until Sherlock had stupidly let himself get caught exchanging his pants…

For years he had done it when Mycroft had been at work. Sneaking into the house, manipulating the videos, and of course Mycroft didn’t do his laundry himself and his housekeepers had never realised they were washing brand new, unworn underwear. Of course he could have washed the ones he had nicked before and given them back instead of buying new ones but somehow this hadn't felt right. He had washed them when he'd been through with them but kept them. He'd had a huge staple before the explosion in his flat…

And then he had become greedy, using the situation of being in the same house with Mycroft for two days for getting a new fetish after weeks of not stealing any. Because that's what they were, these small, thin, expensive pants – a fetish to imagine an incestuous relationship with the only man he'd ever been interested in.

He would never tell his brother what he used to do with them. How he sniffed at them, breathing in his brother's scent, licked at them to taste his essence and, if this didn’t do the deed already so he could use them again, in the end wrapped them around his dick, getting himself off with something that was almost a piece of his brother; a piece of fabric that had gotten into very close contact with his most intimate parts.

And now? Now he had sucked him off and had come by the taste of his semen and the noises of his arousal. He was very grateful he had been able to do such a good job at the first blowjob he had ever given, and had been able to take the come-shot without even gagging.

He got hard again at the thought of his brother's enormous cock in his mouth and throat. He tasted divine and Sherlock couldn’t wait to do that again. And when he imagined Mycroft doing the same for him, he nearly saw stars.

“Wow, you look happy! I'm so glad your family got closer together now after all this mess.”

Sherlock turned his head a little to conceal his blushing and thanked all heavens for John's normal little brain, unable to deduce what was really going on. “Yes, I am, too,” he said honestly. The closer the better…

*****

“It's amazing, really. I'd have never thought it was the daughter!” Greg Lestrade was all big eyes of surprise.

Sherlock shrugged. “She was smart.”

“Not smart enough for you.”

The DI's admiration was embarrassing him. “Please. No need to throw yourself at me feet.” He would have rather Mycroft would let him throw himself at his feet… Three days had passed since they had left their parents to return to London, and he hadn't heard from his brother, and it made him feel very tense. Had Mycroft changed his mind? Had he forgotten their deal?

He didn’t dare call or text him about it, not wanting to appear clingy.

He knew Mycroft would never allow this to become affectionate. This was just physical as for whatever reason he desired Sherlock – a fact that Sherlock would have never even considered. He had thought Mycroft had no such desires at all, let alone for him. Well, it was obvious though. Sherlock was none of his stupid goldfishes; he didn’t need to seduce him and tell him sweet lies to get him in bed or even force him by using his power, and the nature of their relation with each other made it impossible to be open about it so any public tantrums from Sherlock were not to be expected as it would harm him almost as much as Mycroft. The older brother had way more to lose job-wise if it came out but Sherlock had friends who would turn their back on him if they found out about it, not even mentioning the pain it would cause their parents. Sherlock was a safe alternative and certainly more convenient than a hooker… And cheaper, Sherlock thought with a hint of bitterness.

Anyway – Mycroft seemed to have changed his mind, and it made Sherlock very sad. He had managed to not show it and he could deceive very well, even John.

“So, will you tell me…”

The vibration of Sherlock's phone interrupted the DI. Sherlock hastily took it out of his shirt pocket and tried to not show how much he was pleased to finally find a text from his brother with the content he had hoped for.

_Tonight, 8, my place? MH_

Sherlock did notice the coldness of this text. No _hi Sherlock, how are you?_ , no _Sorry, I was too busy to contact you before_. But sod it. If that was the way his brother wanted to play the game, he would play along. Everything to be close to him. And always reminding himself not to show how much it meant to him. Even though he had seen in Mycroft's eyes that he knew that it was more than just sex for Sherlock. It was amazing in itself that Mycroft still wanted to give it a try. He had to make sure that his brother would not regret it and break it off.

All those years he had succeeded in hiding his real feelings from his brother but he knew it would get very hard to deceive him now but perhaps it was enough to pretend that he wasn’t emotionally involved, even if Mycroft knew he was pretending.

He answered in the way Mycroft would surely want him to do it.

_Agreed. SH_

_Very well. MH_

He put his phone away and smiled at Lestrade, feeling a lot better than before even though this hadn't been an exactly loving exchange. He knew he wouldn’t get that and he was willing to accept it. “Okay, listen, I'll explain it to you…”

*****

It was impossible not to stare at Mycroft's delectable bum in the slim-fit trousers when he led the way after asking Sherlock in. He had not smiled when he had greeted him but Sherlock could tell that he was looking forward to this evening. So was Sherlock, especially while taking in the attractive sight of Mycroft in his well-tailored dark-grey suit. His usual armour…

When they had reached the living room, Mycroft gestured at a chair for Sherlock to sit in. “Anything wrong?” he asked then with raised eyebrows.

“What would be?”

“Your look suggests it.”

“I was just surprised you've put on a suit. You've clearly shaved and showered only a few minutes ago; in fact you put on your shirt without even thoroughly drying yourself off.”

Mycroft looked down on himself and Sherlock could see a flicker of self-consciousness in his eyes, and he cursed himself for that. But then – he had to play the game, didn’t he?

Mycroft shook his head, his blue eyes narrowed; Sherlock knew how much his brother hated to be deduced by him. It probably made him feel vulnerable and that couldn’t be to the liking of a man used to being feared and intimidating everybody. “There is nothing wrong with hosting somebody in a suit,” he said defensively, and Sherlock wondered for a moment if his brother even owned any casual clothes, apart from his work-out-shorts. “You are wearing one as well.”

“Well, I couldn't leave the house without proper clothes, could I? John saw me go.” In fact Sherlock had made a lot of effort with his appearance. It wasn’t a date of course but… it was what had come closest to a date in all his life. He had bothered a lot with choosing the right shirt from all the new ones he had bought after the explosion, and he had fumbled with his hair for ages and shaved more thoroughly than ever before.

Mycroft tutted but it sounded playful. “Ah, so because of our deal, you expected me to welcome you in a dressing gown then? A cigar in my mouth, sitting down with spread thighs, untying the belt or just opening the robe to give you access?”

Sherlock swallowed and blushed at this highly arousing picture, and all at once Mycroft smiled and the hint of insecurity disappeared from his eyes. “You must forgive me, brother mine, but I like to be properly dressed, even in my house and even if it's not for very long,” he said in a voice too smooth to be allowed.

“I'm not complaining,” Sherlock said and cleared his throat. “It's a nice suit. And it's always nice to unwrap your gift.” He blushed, knowing this had given away too much of his feelings. He braced himself for a snarky reply or being reprimanded for being sentimental, but Mycroft just scrutinized him – which Sherlock answered with a deliberately indifferent expression, including raised eyebrows - and then he poured Sherlock a drink without even asking.

Sherlock took a big gulp of the expensive whiskey. He was extremely nervous and the fact that he had to do all he could to not show that made him feel even more uncomfortable. He wondered if he would be able to perform any sexual act at all…

“So,” Mycroft said and looked at the amber liquid in his glass. “What would you like to start with? I have discreetly bought plenty of different lubes and allowed myself to get a small collection of plugs and other…”

“I want to lick your hole,” Sherlock burst out and blushed furiously.

“Pardon?” Mycroft's eyes were wide with surprise.

It was too late to back away. “I mean I sucked your dick and I want to do that many times more of course and I want you to do it for me, too, but now I want to…” Sherlock shifted on his chair, “explore the other side…” He had thought about that a lot over the past days. Done some research when John hadn't been at home. Deleted his browser history…

In the end he had of course thought he had done that for nothing when he hadn't heard from his brother for so long but now that it was clear Mycroft had not changed his mind and had even accepted his little outburst of emotion, his fantasies came back with full power.

Mycroft cleared his throat, taken aback. “Well. I guess that's…” He stood up, looking clearly embarrassed under his cool façade. “Fine. If you want, we can go upstairs now.”

Sherlock shot up from his chair but then forced himself to look composed and calm. “After you.”

“You will ogle my posterior when we climb the stairs, right?”

His voice was smug and amused and a week ago, Sherlock would have hated this tone. Now he just found it sexy… and funny, God help him… “You can ogle mine when we go down again.”

Mycroft's lips twitched but he had himself under control again a second later. “It's not quite the same, Sherlock. But your bottom is so plush that it will still work should I feel the urge.”

Sherlock smirked at the compliment. “No envy, brother mine.”

“Far from it. Let's go then.”

Sherlock stared at the pretty, moving bottom all the way up and he knew Mycroft could feel his look. Well, soon enough he would do much more than looking…

*****

Sherlock watched his brother take off his expensive clothing piece by piece in awe. The long fingers opening up the buttons of his silky shirt and the zipper of his trousers, the shirt being elegantly taken off, the trousers sliding down his long, lean legs, revealing more and more pale, hairy skin.

“Not the pants,” Sherlock begged, and Mycroft gave him an indulgent smile.

“Don't worry, I was aware that I should keep them on for a while longer.” He had taken everything else off. “Care to get naked as well?”

“Oh, sure.” Sherlock impatiently fumbled with his own shirt and threw it carelessly onto the floor. He saw Mycroft's nose twitch and hurried to pick it up to place it on a chair.

Mycroft looked at him as if he was waiting for a snarky remark about his obsession with neatness, but Sherlock didn’t have any intentions to spoil the mood – whatever it really was – by fighting with the man he was about to have sex with, and simply took off the rest of his clothes to let them follow the shirt.

“It will get crumpled if you put the trousers on it,” Mycroft stated through gritted teeth.

Sherlock suppressed a grin and then wordlessly pulled the shirt out from under the pile of clothes and neatly spread it over the rest.

Then he turned around to Mycroft and looked at him expectantly. When Mycroft just stood there, watching Sherlock's completely naked body, he gestured at the bed. “Would you, then?”

His brother nodded and placed himself on the large bed.

It was clear at once that Mycroft wasn't feeling comfortable with this position. Lying on his stomach, he had to feel vulnerable once more and as if he wasn't in control.

Sherlock didn’t give him any time for changing anything about it though. He gently urged Mycroft to spread his legs and kneeled down in the space, and then he buried his face into Mycroft's still slightly clothed arse.

It was so different to lick his pants when he was wearing them. Thankfully the fabric was not one that was filling his mouth with fuzz, and it was thin and he could feel Mycroft's heat radiate through it. When he licked in the crack, he even tasted his brother's musk through it, and it almost made him come at once.

Mycroft produced soft moans whenever Sherlock's tongue got near his entrance – and the thought of perhaps one day really being allowed to enter him made him feel all dizzy – and finally Sherlock pulled off the wet pants, gently sliding them over the huge bulge on Mycroft's front.

“You seem to like that,” he teased him.

“Don't state the obvious,” came the muffled reply.

Sherlock grinned and then he had slid the pants down and over Mycroft's long feet and bent forward again to finally spread his brother's naked cheeks.

The sight was incredible. A ring of pink, wrinkled flesh, fluttering before his eyes. Sherlock blew over it and Mycroft hissed something into the pillows. Without having to ask him Sherlock knew that nobody had ever come that close to his brother's bottom and that the older man had been surprised by his sensitivity to touches at this usually hidden spot.

Feeling proud, Sherlock let his head dart forward, and he poked out his tongue and probed at the inviting ring of muscles that seemed to pull away from him only to open up a bit again. The taste was like nothing he had ever tasted before. Salty and strong, strange and infatuating. He pressed a kiss on the thick skin – and he only vaguely realised that they had not kissed each other on the mouth so far and would probably never do it – and then he nuzzled his face into the dark crack and let his tongue go at it in earnest.

He loved it. He simply loved it, and it was more than obvious that Mycroft was thoroughly enjoying himself as well. He wriggled under him and his quiet moans were telling Sherlock that he was doing it quite right. His long fingers fumbled with the fuzzy backside of Mycroft's balls or rubbed over the reddening skin of his perineum, and he could feel his own balls pulling up; his cock had been painfully hard when he had only started with caressing Mycroft's clothed arse and was now throbbing harder than ever before.

He buried his tongue deep in the contracting hole and Mycroft moaned loudly into the sheets, and Sherlock felt his climax coming. But this time he didn’t spurt into his hand; he moved upwards on the bed, placed his blood-filled dick between Mycroft's thighs and then shot his load all over the swollen flesh of his anus. A part of his white, thick semen splashed over Mycroft's cheeks and his long back, and Sherlock bent down to lick it off.

“God, Sherlock, what are you doing,” Mycroft mumbled when he cleaned his hole with his tongue as well, and then Sherlock turned him around and grabbed his hard, red, leaking dick. This time he didn’t suck him – he wanted to watch him come.

He only performed five hard pumps before Mycroft orgasmed with a low growl over his own stomach, and Sherlock hurried to lick it off as well.

Even imagining doing something like this a week ago would have made him sick; no matter how much he had fancied his older brother from afar, he wouldn't have even considered performing anything this… dirty. But it didn’t feel dirty now that he had done it; he realised that sex was and had to be just like that – follow your instincts, taste, touch, enjoy and eat all the come you can get.

Mycroft was stunned. “Sherlock, I'm… speechless.”

“Now that’s good news indeed,” Sherlock retorted, licking his lips, and after a moment, Mycroft surprised him and certainly himself with laughing out loud.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut and angst...

Mycroft more or less patiently waited until Mrs Hudson let him in. Of course he had a key but he would only use that in an emergency, and this definitely wasn’t any.

“Oh, Mr Holmes,” she said, barely concealing her dislike towards him.

How old was she at all? Her saggy face was all wrinkles and it didn’t get any more attractive from scowling at him.

Always choosing his wars deliberately, he gave her an indifferent smile. “Mrs Hudson. Thank you. Is my brother here?”

“Yes, he and John and Rosie are _all_ there.”

Mycroft sighed inaudibly. Not only because she sounded as if she was talking about a happy little family whose appeal he just didn’t get because he was, well, cold as ice and a horrible human being… It would be the first time that he met Doctor Watson since these interesting developments between him and Sherlock had started. Damn, it was the first time since _Sherrinford_ that he met the doctor, he just realised. And of course John couldn’t know anything about his new relationship with his brother.

He hadn't texted Sherlock before coming there. Perhaps it would have been better but he hadn’t wanted Sherlock to get all nervous beforehand, especially as he came for business, not pleasure. He just hoped he would react appropriately to his arrival – which meant snarky and pissed off. Well, it was too late to do anything about it now.

He walked upstairs; the door of the flat was open as usual.

“How cosy,” he mocked when he entered the living room. If he hadn't known it better, he might have believed Mrs Hudson had a point.

Sherlock looked up from the scientific book he'd been reading in, his eyes brightening up for a second before a shield seemed to close behind them.

_Good boy…_

The doctor had the child on his lap and gave him a mocking smile. “Mycroft, what a pleasure! I thought you had disappeared from the earth!”

“And what a shame _that_ would have been,” Sherlock mumbled, and Mycroft relaxed further but plastered a condescend smile onto his face.

“A good morning to you two as well. I have a case for you, Sherlock.”

“Oh do you. I'm not interested.”

Strange… He played his role so convincingly. But then – it had always been a role, only that he was playing it for John alone now instead of for Mycroft and John and perhaps even for himself.

Mycroft smiled thinly. “I don't care if you are or not. You will investigate or you will explain the PM himself that you don't give a damn for the kingdom to be threatened.”

John snorted. “I wouldn’t challenge him.”

 _Oh, shut up, you moron…_ He had never liked the doctor. And he knew John despised him. Why had Sherlock let him get back into his life after what John had done to him? They had never spoken about it. Not that they were speaking so much when they met up… They'd had three 'dates' now and talking hadn't been on the schedule, just as Mycroft wanted it to be.

“Alright, give it here,” Sherlock gave in with a theatrical eye-roll, and Mycroft handed him a folder.

It had indeed been the PM's idea to include Sherlock in the case. A really stupid case…

He watched Sherlock glancing at the file with increasing and genuine exasperation. “Are you serious, Mycroft? Missing cutlery? Clothes ripped apart?”

John shook his head. “What? Why should that bother you or anybody?”

“Because it happens in Buckingham Palace,” Mycroft said with a sigh. “Look, there is more to that. Could you come over to my place tonight so I can explain it to you, Sherlock?” It had been a spontaneous idea. Dangerous even…

Sherlock looked very surprised for a second, too short for the doctor to notice. Then he snorted. “Yeah, well. Guess you'll come and drag me by the ear if I don't.”

“Fine. Seven. Be in time.” Mycroft nodded towards John Watson. “Doctor.”

“You know, you could have greeted her at least.”

“Hm? Whom?” Oh, John was talking about this… child… To him they looked all the same. Boring. Unimportant. Annoying. Just like more than ninety-nine percent of the world's population, and not in the least counting in regards of his occupation or even being able to judge his behaviour.

“Wow, really. You are such an…”

“John!”

Mycroft winced. That hadn't been good at all. Why would Sherlock jump to his defence?

The doctor seemed to think the same, looking at his flatmate with narrowed eyes, but Sherlock just added: “You know he's a cold fish. He probably didn’t even notice her. Better not draw his nasty attention at our poor girl.”

Mycroft sighed but he somehow felt flattered, not by the insult but by Sherlock's hint of support towards John. Feeling generous, he snarled, “Gentlemen. My lady. Talk later.” With this he turned around and left, catching himself at swinging his hips a tad more than necessary.

*****

“Playing with fire?” Sherlock mocked when he was hanging up his coat.

“Pardon?”

“Come on – summoning me here in John's presence? You never asked me to come here before.”

“Which didn’t keep you from breaking in and torturing me with the help of your nasty little friends.”

Sherlock blushed a little. “Well, yes. I guess I owe you an apology for that.”

Better late than never… Mycroft wondered why he had brought up this subject at all; he hated to be reminded of his pathetic behaviour that night. The cruel prank had caught him off guard and what he hated most about it was that John Watson had seen him like this – vulnerable and terrified, acting like any imbecilic goldfish, and had mocked him in a way Mycroft would never forgive him.

Not that Sherlock had been any nicer to him that night. He could see the regret about these actions in his brother's bright eyes now.

“Accepted,” he simply said, his voice sounding untouched. “Living room or bedroom?”

“I thought we had business to do?”

“It was the eldest maid,” Mycroft said. “Beginning dementia. Doesn't remember her actions.”

“Yeah, kind of figured that out already as well. But why did you give me the case then?”

“Not my idea. And I thought it doesn't hurt you to be accepted by the PM as a little more than a troublemaker. Could bring you some really interesting cases eventually, who knows.”

Sherlock nodded. “You have a point. So I'll go there tomorrow, look around and stun them with my cleverness.”

“Quite so. Forego the sheet this time, if you are so kind.”

“Ah, memories…” Sherlock said fondly and Mycroft smiled.

“Nasty ones, yes.”

“You hate John, don't you?” Sherlock's voice was low and serious now.

“Hate him? Why would I? He's way too unimportant for that.”

“You do. Because he… was violent towards me? Smug towards you?”

All of that, possibly… Or just because he was a nosy, unbearable, unsympathetic creature…

“Or have you always been jealous of him?”

“Jealous. Right. You sleep with him, then, too?” He cursed himself for this answer. It had sounded as if he would have a reason to be jealous if Sherlock really did that. As if they were – a couple. Which they weren't…

“Of course not but…”

“Listen, Sherlock, we have an agreement. We spend each other physical pleasures and so far I would say to both of our satisfaction. That's it. I'm not in love with you. If you did engage with others, I would of course need to know that, for safety reasons.”

He could literally see Sherlock's shields close. “I don't and I won't,” he said in a flat tone. “I just wonder…”

“What?”

“Why did you want me to shoot you instead of John if you dislike him so much?”

“Oh, did I really?”

Sherlock gasped, his emotions on display again very quickly. “You want to tell me you meant what you said about shooting him?!”

“One solution was as good as the other one. It was my responsibility that all this happened to you, Sherlock. A total blackout for way too long. Soldiers, this nonsense, you remember. But I wouldn’t have shed a tear if you had taken my words seriously and shot him. Bedroom now?”

Sherlock looked totally shaken and Mycroft almost expected him to turn around and leave but then he nodded. “I want you to finally fuck me now, Mycroft,” he said to his surprise.

Why now? As an apology? A punishment for himself? As a means to deepening the bond they didn’t have?

Or did they…

He shook the thought off. “No objections, brother.” So far they had exchanged blowjobs and gropings and Mycroft would certainly never forget Sherlock rimming him so pleasantly… It was time to take the next step. The actual incest… Forbidden, scandalous and so arousing. Despite the rather unpleasant conversation, he could feel his dick filling out.

*****

A crazy conglomerate of feelings. Zen-like calmness in his mind while performing an act that made his taste buds tingle and his groin burn with desire and urge.

Pure bliss, in fact.

He could have stayed like this forever, kneeling before the bed, his brother spread out for him.

His large hands were parting Sherlock's arse cheeks, exposing wrinkled, rosy, quivering flesh, and his tongue was messing up, opening up, licking the out- and insides of this luring ring of muscles.

Salty, sweet, bitter and sharp, all the tastes combined, spreading over his tongue. Sherlock's groans and pleas, garnished with quiet curses and serious wiggling.

Mycroft playfully bit into one of those incredibly plush cheeks, caressing the soft, sweet skin with his overexcited tongue. “Like it, brother mine?” he mimicked what Sherlock had asked him a few days ago.

“What do we say about stating the obvious,” Sherlock mumbled into the pillows and Mycroft grinned.

Then he grinned wider when Sherlock reached behind to grab the back of his head.

“Who told you to stop?”

“Sorry, I didn’t quite get that?”

“Lick my hole, brother!” Sherlock thundered and Mycroft chuckled.

“Who would have known you are so depraved?” he mused. “Eating both of our releases, cursing like a sailor, not even mentioning your little underwear-obsession. A pirate-manqué for sure.”

“Not sure a pirate would be amenable to what we are doing, brother,” Sherlock retorted. “And now go on.”

“No. Time to get you seriously prepared for me. You know – my penis is not exactly small.”

“I did notice that, believe me. Neither is mine by the way.”

“Of course not, _little_ brother…” he teased him, knowing that Sherlock's member was nearly equally long but not quite as thick as his one.

“Fuck you!”

Oh, this was way too much fun… Surprisingly enough after what he'd said to his brother before they had gone upstairs. Sherlock seemed to have chosen to forget it for now. “No, fuck _you_ , Sherlock.”

“Then get on and do it!”

“Always so impatient.” Mycroft stood up and took one of the plugs along with a bottle of lubrication out of the drawer.

Sherlock observed him with sparkling eyes. “Did you use that on yourself?”

“Of course not. This is a brand new one.”

“So you do use these things?”

“Only recently,” Mycroft admitted.

“Which means one day you'll let me…?”

“If you're a very good boy, I might.” In fact he had never planned on letting Sherlock top him. But after this incredibly arousing rimming session, he'd had to admit to himself that this area of his body was way more sensitive and, well, _receptive_ than he had thought. And of course it would only be fair to grant Sherlock access to his body in the same way Sherlock was about to do it for him. He had promised him it wouldn’t be a one-way-street after all.

Damn, he wanted Sherlock to fuck him, no matter if that meant giving up control.

He wondered if he still had it anyway…

“Will you…?” Sherlock interrupted his thoughts.

“Right, brother. Prepare for some cold lube and a coloured intruder in your little hole to get it ready for my big dick.” It did feel good to say such things he had to admit.

Sherlock flinched. “Oh, Mycroft…”

Mycroft slapped his arse, just because he could.

“Mycroft!”

“Apologies.”

“Do it again!”

Way too much fun, this all… And still he couldn’t get enough.

*****

No matter how hard he'd been trying to play cool towards Sherlock, he had fantasised about this moment plenty of times over the past days. But of course he should have known his imagination wouldn’t be able to live up to this reality.

He was kneeling behind Sherlock, his dark red knob - sitting on his fat penis like an oversized, proud crown - was pushing against the reddened flesh of his anus that had seen a lot of in- and out-sliding of a blue plug during the course of the last ten minutes.

Preparing him, watching the toy opening his well-slicked hole up, had been highly arousing but this, this was it. The moment they would really break the biggest taboo, one of the few real taboos still left in their world.

He could see his slit glistening with wetness when he made contact, smearing his pre-come over the waiting entrance. Sherlock hissed something and then moved his awesome arse backwards so Mycroft was pressed hard against the forbidden spot.

He smacked Sherlock's round right cheek again. “Patience, you menace. I'll hurt you if I do it too fast.” And this was not on his agenda.

He wanted Sherlock to keep his distance, to not mess it up with unwelcome sentiments he couldn’t deal with but the last thing he wanted was to hurt him, his playful smacking aside. Unwillingly he pushed the thought away that forced itself into his mind: _You know you do hurt him with this_ I'm-not-in-love-with-you _-stuff?_ Because Sherlock clearly was in love with _him_ and he had known that from the start, no confessions necessary.

Sherlock ignored his protest but moved his arse up and down against his throbbing cock, the flexible knob getting pleasantly bent in the process. “Fuck me, Mycroft. Before I throw you on the bed and just impale myself on you.”

“Brat,” Mycroft said but he took the bottle of lube and squeezed a large amount into Sherlock's eagerly fluttering hole and his fully hard dick and then he pushed Sherlock onto his stomach and finally seriously pressed himself into his brother.

They moaned in unison when he sank in further and further, his dick enveloped by heat and tightness, his thoughts only focused on this moment.

“Fuck, yes,” Sherlock mumbled. “Deeper, Mycroft.”

“Don't sound like a porn cliché,” Mycroft admonished him but he did as he'd been told.

 “Whatever do you know about porn?” Sherlock promptly asked, cheekily and huskily, and - disregarding this absolutely legitimate question - Mycroft started thrusting and after only a few strokes, he was buried in Sherlock to the hilt, his achingly full balls squeezed against the lush arse at every poke.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” Sherlock hissed, and this time Mycroft didn’t reprimand him, the sheer lust and truthfulness in his brother's voice going straight to his groin.

He knew there was a certain spot he had to push against, and, aspiring as he was in every segment of his life, he was determined to find it. He had never bothered with this when he'd fucked other men but this was… different.

So he experimented with the stroking angle until Sherlock made a noise between crying, croaking and sobbing and then he continued to thrust into him in exactly the same way until Sherlock's entire body shuddered and the tight muscles constricted around his cock so hard that he lost it and pumped his seed into him, positive that his sheets were being thoroughly soaked at the same time by the stammering mess under him.

Mycroft rolled his all-at-once-limp body onto the bed and after a second, Sherlock's heavy head was laid onto his sweaty chest.

“That was so good,” the younger man mumbled into his damp chest hair, his arm cradling around Mycroft's waist.

This did feel good as well. Very good actually.

And Mycroft didn’t like it. “Yes, but now you have to leave.”

Sherlock looked up to him with an expression as if he had slapped him in the face, and not in a sexy way. Then he bit his lip so hard that even Mycroft could feel the pain.

“Yes, of course.” He got up in an instant.

“Shower before. He will smell it.”

Sherlock stared at him as if he wanted to say something and certainly something nasty, but he just nodded. “I better do. And you should change the sheets before your housekeeper comes next time…”

“As if I would have slept in this mess.”

“Of course not.” Sherlock grabbed his clothes and headed to the door.

“Where are you going? I thought…”

“I'll rather use the downstairs bathroom. Don't worry – I'll clean up after me as if I'd never been there.”

“Remember our deal, Sherlock. It was…”

“Yes. I know what it was. Nothing wrong with it. Bye.” With this he slammed the door shut behind him and Mycroft let himself slump into the pillows.

He hadn't liked the cosiness of this situation as it had started to mean too much to Sherlock.

But he definitely also didn’t like the way it had just turned out.

Complications. Why had he expected anything else?

A part of him wanted to follow Sherlock, make sure he wouldn’t leave the house in this furious _[hurt]_ state. But he didn’t do it.

They had a deal and they both had to live with it.

He fell asleep quickly, in the filthy sheets, avoiding thinking about what it had started meaning to _him_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smut (or rather filth) and the angst increase.

“You should have seen your brother – he was awesome! These - how do you call it?” The Prime Minister turned to Sherlock, beaming at him.

“Deductions,” Sherlock answered and gave him a wry smile back.

Then he looked into Mycroft's eyes again.

When he and the old man had entered his office – the PM had only knocked shortly and burst in and Sherlock doubted that anyone else dared do that – Mycroft had been sitting at his desk, dressed impeccably as always in a new light-grey suit and a pale-blue shirt, matching the colour of his eyes, but had stood up to greet them. His eyes had scanned Sherlock as if to search for signs of hurt or rejection but Sherlock had had time to calm down and practice a look of indifference, mimicking his brother who was the master in this art...

What he now saw in Mycroft's eyes was a hint of mockery (about his abilities after the case had been clear to both of them from the start), cautiousness (about the state of - for the lack of a better word - relationship) and… yes, pride and fondness.

“Yes, that's it,” the leader of the British government blathered on. “He was so smart!”

“Well, that's what he is, my little brother.”

For a split second, Mycroft winked at Sherlock and Sherlock felt a pang of warmth inside him.

It had been a hard, tough night.

He had showered with icy water and had dried himself off quickly in the guest bathroom, a stupid part of him hoping Mycroft would show up and say what – that he was sorry? Of course he hadn't done it…

When he had walked home, he'd had time to think, and he'd had to admit that Mycroft hadn't done anything that would have contradicted their deal – his conditions for spending this sort of time with each other in the first place. Sherlock had accepted it because he had known he wouldn’t get anything else from his brother and he had no right to be pissed off now that Mycroft hadn't reacted differently to him overstepping the mark. He had shown his feelings too openly last night and he had received the reaction he had deserved. In fact Mycroft had been rather indulgent to him. In any way he had no reason to give him a hard time.

He knew this all and still he had felt sore when he had returned to Baker Street. But he'd had enough time to compose himself and put on a mask for John. His friend thought he knew Sherlock so well but in fact he didn’t. He knew what Sherlock _allowed_ him to know. Of course he thought Sherlock had changed so much over the years they had been friends and Sherlock had indeed noticeably changed his behaviour towards the people he owed a lot. But in fact he was still the same person he'd been when John had come into his life. He liked John and Molly and Mrs Hudson and Lestrade and Rosie but there was only one person he loved. And he wouldn’t give up what they had just because it hurt him. His unrequited feelings for Mycroft had always hurt him so what was the big deal? At least he was allowed to be with him in a way he had never considered possible until a little more than a week ago…

And still he had suffered. Was still suffering.

The politician went on with his tirade. “But really, the old Mrs Barnes? Who would have thought! It's a shame you couldn’t be there, Mr Holmes.”

“Yes, I agree, but this conference call with Japan couldn't wait.”

Couldn’t it? Or had he rather avoided being in the palace with Sherlock, afraid he could make a scene? Or had he just not wanted to take the spotlight away from him? Sherlock couldn’t say. If there was one person in the world he couldn’t always deduce, it was his brother.

“The empire is lucky to have such awesome men like you!” the PM said melodramatically and Sherlock could see a tiny eye-rolling in the icy blues of his brother, but Mycroft just smiled and thanked the old man.

“It's our pleasure, sir.”

“Lucky, I say! Thank you so much again, young Mr Holmes. I'll leave you both to your duties now. Will you leave now?” he asked Sherlock.

“I'd like to have a word with my brother first,” Mycroft threw in.

“Of course! Have a wonderful day, you two wonderful men!” With this exclamation the PM danced out of the room; there was no other word for it.

Both brothers' looks followed him until the door had closed behind him.

Then Mycroft put a hand onto Sherlock's shoulder. “Well done, little brother,” he said quietly. “You really impressed him.”

“I wouldn’t have noticed,” Sherlock said dryly and his heart skipped a beat when Mycroft smiled at him.

“I wish I could have been there. But this conference call was important and it came rather unexpected.”

“Never mind. You know my theatrics well enough.”

“I surely do. So… You've been a very good boy. That screams for a reward.”

 _Kiss me, Mycroft_ , Sherlock thought but of course he didn’t speak it out. Kissing was definitely off limits even though they had never talked about it. He was relieved that Mycroft was willing to continue their strange relationship at all.

And really, there was something his brother could do for him…

“If that's so, I want to make you come into your pants,” he said in a light tone. “Right now.”

“What? I thought _you_ were the one to be rewarded.”

“And I want you to take them off so I can have them.”

“Oh. With all the filth in it? Messy and sticky?”

“Oh God yes.” His brother was so bloody great with his words, no matter in which situation… Sherlock would have never thought he would hear him talk dirty though, and he bloody loved it.

“Lock the door then, and we'll have to be quick. My next meeting is in half an hour only though and Anthea is out for lunch so it's not a bad time for it.”

“Very convenient. And I won't need half an hour.”

“I know, brother mine, I know.”

*****

It was dangerous; Sherlock knew it. Nobody could just burst in but if someone important now showed up and found the door locked, it would raise big question none of them would like to answer. But he wanted this so badly and he was amazed Mycroft allowed him to do it.

The older brother opened and slid down his trousers, sitting down in his big leather chair, and Sherlock kneeled between his legs and immediately started licking and fingering the huge, rapidly thickening cock through the fabric of the pants.

When he licked a stripe over the hard, hot flesh again, Mycroft pressed his face into his crotch. “You're so good at that, baby brother, you like my dick, don't you? Like my soiled pants, too.”

It was stunning to hear the sophisticated man talk dirty like this, but for a moment Sherlock wondered what would happen if there were any listening devices in this room. Let alone cameras… But then he shook his head. Mycroft would have made sure his office was clean.

“What? You don't like it?” Mycroft had misinterpreted his head-shaking and let go of his head.

Sherlock smiled and looked up to him. “No, of course I do. I just thought… what you just said… and what we do…”

“Oh, I see. Believe me, there are no bugs in this room and be assured that nobody is watching us.”

“Yes, it was a silly idea.”

“Not silly. It's dangerous, I know that.”

“But you like the danger.”

“God yes.”

Sherlock smiled and Mycroft smiled back, his hand briefly cupping his cheek. The gentle touch and the flicker of emotion in the usually so cold blue eyes meant more to Sherlock than any sexual favour his brother could have done him. But he couldn’t dwell on this now, for more than one reason.

He bent his head again and went back to work.

Not for a moment he exposed Mycroft's dick, only licking and awkwardly sucking it through the now very tight pants but he slid his forefinger under the fabric to tickle his balls eventually and this drove his brother over the edge. He bucked up in his chair and came with a low growl. Sherlock stroked his thighs until he had shivered through his strong climax, then he got up.

“Okay, get them off now.”

“I should have brought a fresh pair.”

“Who said that I haven't?” With this Sherlock rummaged in his coat pocket.

Mycroft made wide eyes when he presented his gift. “Wow, you came here, planning this? And how considerate of you to get a substitute.”

The detective felt a little proud and winked at his older brother. “I'm a genius, Mycroft. And we've already agreed I sometimes have premonitions.”

“Right.” Mycroft stepped out of his trousers and took off the severely soiled pants to slip on the new ones, but Sherlock held him back.

“Wait. Let me clean you up first.” And then he dropped on his knees again and carefully licked off the traces of come on Mycroft's softening dick, reaching into every wrinkle, into the slit and under his foreskin.

Mycroft was watching him from above, his hand in Sherlock's curls. “You're really very helpful today, brother mine,” he said softly, and they shared a smile when Sherlock helped him into the fresh pants and even closed his trousers for him. Then he stored his trophy carefully.

“Want to come over tonight?” Mycroft asked.

“Definitely yes.”

They stood opposite of each other and Sherlock desperately tried to hide his feelings but he knew they were shining through. He had to watch his reactions and actions better or Mycroft would end this. He was amazed enough that he hadn't done it after the night before…

“I'll make dinner,” Mycroft said to his surprise.

“Oh, that… would be great.”

“Seven?”

“Yes.”

 _God, I love you, Mycroft…_ “I better go now, see if there are any clients waiting; John is in the clinic.”

“Sure. And thank you again. For your help – in every way.”

Sherlock smiled. “The empire would be lost without me.”

“It surely would. Take care.”

“And you.”

When Sherlock stepped outside, he felt lighter than he had done for ages. But then he reminded himself that this would be the best he would get. And still… He would meet Mycroft again tonight and they would… _[make love]_ have sex… It was worth the suffering that would inevitably come again.

And as soon as he was at home, he would make good use of his new fetish before his prize could dry in them.

*****

Half an hour later, he was lying flat on his back. He had locked his bedroom door even though he was sure John wouldn't be back so soon, and Mrs Hudson had told him when he had arrived that she would go out for a few hours.

If there were really any clients, they'd have to wait until he was finished. But of course he knew it would be over fast, given the facts that a) he hadn't come when he'd been with Mycroft and b) this trophy was the best he'd ever had – full of his brother's release.

He had become nude very quickly and now he put the pants on his face, deeply breathing in the infatuating scent of his brother's semen, crotch and skin. He darted his tongue out to lick at the still damp, sticky fluid and moaned at the taste.

His right hand was tightly wrapped around his dick that hadn't completely softened all the way home and stood to full attention now. He pulled at the foreskin, slid it back, tickled his oversensitive, wet knob, and started pumping the shaft while his other hand was fondling the heavy sack, caressing the smooth skin, and then his long middle finger went southwards to stroke his perineum and circle his hole.

And he groaned when he took most of the pants into his mouth and sucked out all of the bitter-sweet sperm he could reach, chewing, tasting his brother's essence, his senses overloaded, and too soon he came, his cry muffled by the fabric in his mouth, and he took it out with a sticky hand and shovelled up his own release, licking it off his hand, enjoying the taste of their combined seed on his tongue.

When he had cleaned his hand and his heart rate returned to normal, he sank back into the pillows.

Only a few days ago he had been a man without any sexual experience except for using his own hand and sniffing at his brother's dry pants every few weeks and now he had done it almost all – sucking him, getting sucked, rimming him and having his arse eaten and getting fucked, and he was aware that what he'd just done would be considered hardcore even by way more experienced gay men.

He loved it.

He just wished his brother would let him _love_ him…

He got up, storing the pants in his drawer. There was no sperm left in them but they would certainly be good for another sniff.

It was definitely time for a shower. He searched for his robe and left his room, almost running into John.

Both of them startled but it was Sherlock who blushed furiously.

“Oh, wow, what…” John eyed him closely. “What is that in your face? And… God, you smell like…”

“I made an experiment,” Sherlock said with as much dignity as he could pull off. He was rather sure John wouldn’t buy that (just as Mycroft hadn't when he had caught him nicking the pants) but it was the only plea he could think of.

“Is there… someone in your room?” John asked cautiously.

Sherlock pushed the door wide open. “Is there?” he asked dryly, glad he had hidden Mycroft's pants even though he knew John was looking for a human, not a textile fetish.

John took a quick look. “Well, if he's not under the bed or in the wardrobe…”

“ _He_?”

“Oh, come on, I know you are gay. I knew that from day one. And really, your face is… What the hell did you do, Sherlock? Try out if sperm works as a face mask? Is that the secret of your boyish looks? Looking for a patent on that?”

Sherlock flushed even harder. “Really, John, this is very indiscreet and embarrassing.”

The doctor laughed out loud. “Indiscreet?! Embarrassing even? And this from you?”

Sherlock snorted. “If you excuse me now, I need to take a shower.”

“Yes, you definitely do… Will you be here tonight?”

“No.”

“Got a date?”

“Leave me alone, John!”

“So yes. Will I meet him?”

Certainly… “No! You would only ask him indiscreet, nasty questions and scare him away!” Feeling a little proud of this idea, Sherlock stormed into the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

*****

Of course Mycroft noticed at once that something had happened. He took Sherlock's coat and hung it up. “How bad is it?”

“It's nothing. John just caught me after… And he figured out that… I'm seeing someone and that I'm doing that now. He will never even consider it could be you,” he hastily added.

“No, I doubt that, too. And it's not as if you were… 'seeing me',” Mycroft said in a rather cold tone, the quotation marks around the last two words clearly audible.

“No, of course not,” Sherlock mumbled. He had been an idiot to get caught by John, an even bigger idiot to let him know that there was someone in his life. Only that there wasn't as Mycroft had just made clear.

He could feel Mycroft's stare on his back when he walked towards the living room. Then _he_ stared at the nicely laid table. There were no candles or flowers, of course not, but some nice cutlery and big white cloth napkins, along with different glasses and a silvery ice bucket.

“I just like to eat my dinner with some style,” Mycroft said from behind him and it sounded defensive. “It doesn't mean…”

And all at once Sherlock had enough. He whirled around. “I get it, okay! You don't have to rub it in every second minute! You don't love me, it's just sex and this,” he gestured at the table, “is just for yourself as we don't have a fucking _date_!”

Mycroft was speechless for a moment after this loud outburst. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Yes. Just so. And it's for the better, or perhaps even too much in the first place as you can't keep quiet as it seems!”

“I didn’t expect him to come home so early! He must have told me but I didn’t listen…”

“You never listen…”

“Oh, shut up! You can't have both! You can't be my smarter big brother and behave like you always did and at the same time say I'm just a… a… _fucktoy_ for you.”

“I never said that, I…”

“Of course you didn’t; the sophisticated Mycroft Holmes wouldn't use such a nasty word even if it's a hundred percent accurate!”

Mycroft looked at him as if he was about to slap him in the face but he still had enough self-control to let it be. “We are still brothers and obviously nothing will change that, Sherlock, so I'm very well allowed to tell you when you misbehave! And I was out for a respectful…”

“Respectful? Ha! You just said that so I would agree!”

“You would have agreed to everything just to get your hands on me and we won't forget your little underwear kink.”

Sherlock swallowed. Then he nodded, feeling completely exhausted by his outburst and this nasty argument. “Yes, I guess that's true. And you know why?”

“Please, Sherlock…” Mycroft's voice was quiet now. “Don't…” He looked stressed out and strangely _old_ all at once.

But of course Sherlock couldn’t let it rest now. “Because I love you, that's why. I guess when you love someone like I love you, and have done so for ages, you'll accept every condition just to be allowed to…” No, he wouldn’t cry now. That couldn't happen.

He turned to the door. “I better go.”

“Sherlock…”

“Sorry about dinner.”

*****

He had forgotten his coat, the silly boy.

Mycroft rummaged in the pockets but as usual, Sherlock must have his phone and his keys in his shirt- and trouser pockets so except from freezing, it wouldn’t do any harm.

He could have gone to Baker Street of course. Bring his brother his coat. Talk to him.

But why should he? Sherlock had known from the start that this was not meant to be a love affair.

He should have known it better. It couldn’t work. Sherlock didn’t have a crush on him. Sherlock was _madly in love_ with him.

Sentiments. How much he had always despised them.

Sherlock's words from years back echoed in his mind.

_I always assumed that love is a dangerous disadvantage. Thank you for the final proof!_

Oh, he had sounded so convincing when he had said this to bloody Irene Adler. And still Sherlock had not learned anything from it. He was full of sentiments…

Slowly he walked back to the living room and let himself drop in his armchair after pouring himself a drink and switching off the lights. He wasn't hungry anymore.

He stared into the darkness for a long time. His brain felt as if it had shut itself almost completely off. It was numb.

That silly boy. Trouble all of his life. From birth on. Always the reason for Mycroft's dismay.

He was better off without this complicated… _thing_ between them.

A lot better.

_Damn…_

His phone rang but he ignored it. He just… couldn’t talk now.

He slowly got up, drank up his booze and walked out of the room, torn between going to bed and doing something he would regret later.

He winced when his phone vibrated with a message this time. Biting his bottom lip, he took it out of his jacket pocket.

It wasn't a text from Sherlock as he'd expected. It was a text from DI Greg Lestrade, and while he was reading it, his blood turned to ice.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst, fluff and friendship

“Lestrade.” He stalked towards the DI with long steps.

“Mr Holmes, I…”

“How is he?”

“Still in the operation theatre. They are doing their best.” He gestured at some empty chairs. “Come, sit down.”

“Injuries?”

Lestrade gave him a devastating litany. _A single stab wound, right next to his heart. Massive blood loss. Trauma. Unresponsive. Blood transfusion._

Mycroft followed the DI to a few empty visitors' chairs. St Bart's. Again. How many times more? And things were different now. Affecting him even more than before when Sherlock had been shot not so long ago. At this time he had been his little brother Mycroft had felt responsible for. Now…

His head was spinning but he had to concentrate now. “What happened?”

The DI sighed. “He was in the tube. There was an argument between a few young lads, getting heated. He interfered. In his usual way as we were told…”

“I can imagine… Probably deducing how pathetic they are and being all smug…”

_And hurt. And he wouldn’t have been there in the first place without this stupid argument…_

“They were arrested. We're missing his coat. It wasn't in the tube.”

Mycroft winced but he was sure Lestrade didn’t notice it. Should they search for the Belstaff… But John would tell them Sherlock had been on a date. Not that it mattered; his mysterious boyfriend had obviously not had anything to do with it. It wasn’t this kind of crime.

It didn’t matter now. All that mattered now was Sherlock.

Quick footsteps approached them. “Fuck, Greg, Mycroft! How is he?”

Mycroft didn’t even look up to the doctor, only vaguely hearing what Lestrade explained Sherlock's flatmate, though registering the DI mentioned a few details he had not told him.

“He lost his coat?!” came through as well.

He stared at John. “Is that your main concern?”

“No, of course not but… you know how much he loves this thing.”

“I'll get him a new one,” Mycroft hissed, just wanting to silence the annoying little man.

“They don't produce them anymore! And the new ones they sell are not to his liking.”

This was so surreal. His brother was being operated; he had lost a lot of blood and he would possibly _die_ , and they were discussing his bloody _coat_ …

Mycroft shuddered. No, the coat wasn’t bloody. It was safe in his house, but his brother…

It was as if he had been stabbed in the chest as well… Everything became blurry.

“Mycroft? Are you alright?”

He could have beaten Lestrade down for this stupid question. But then – he was the Iceman. He never showed feelings or weaknesses, at least apart from the Sherrinford fiasco and the events preceding it.

But this was about his brother.

Sherlock.

The man he fucking _loved_ and who would possibly never know he did.

It was the first time he even admitted it to himself and he could have smashed his head on a table.

*****

He went in alone and he was the first one to see Sherlock after the operations.

He took a chair and brought it over to the bed.

It was horrible.

Sherlock was pale like a dead man, his cheekbones sticking out like never before. His eyes were closed, his lips were swollen and there were purple bruises around his eyes; he had been hit in the face by his attackers obviously.

If he ever got hold of them… They were lucky that the police had been faster.

He laid his hand on Sherlock's arm, the one that wasn't attached to machines.

“You silly, stupid boy,” he rasped out. “I should be sleeping now to be fresh for tomorrow, when I'll have to deal with the matters of the kingdom, and instead I have to be here. Watching _you_ sleeping.”

He started stroking the thin but muscular arm.

“How could you do that? Hm? Messing around with four people. What do you think you are – some kind of superhero?”

Sherlock didn’t answer. He didn’t flinch. He just lay there. Breathing, at least.

“You forgot your coat in my house. Did you think I would come running, bringing it back?”

He stared at Sherlock's motionless features for two long minutes.

“What do you expect? An apology? You can have it. I'm sorry.”

His voice sounded so foreign in this empty, room, silent apart from the annoying noises of the machines and Sherlock's quiet breathing.

He went on talking, not even feeling stupid. “I bought a dozen new pants two days ago. Could soil them all for you. You could soil them for me. God, Sherlock, wake up!”

He wiped over his own cheek impatiently.

“I swear to you, if you die, I'll…”

He stopped. And didn’t say another word but just maniacally stroked Sherlock's arm, the cool skin warming up under his touch.

After ten endless minutes, he got up.

“John wants to see you, too. I'll be back tomorrow. And if you wake up before, I'll come back at once. Don't die, listen. Just don't die…”

He bent over the bed and pressed a kiss on Sherlock's temple before he turned to leave.

_My little brother._

_My little troublemaker._

_My boy._

_My man._

*****

“Look who's back!”

Sherlock groaned. “Oh, damn… What happened?”

John lifted his hand apologetically. “Excuse me for a second.”

“Whom are you texting?”

“Your brother of course.”

“Why?” Sherlock rasped out. “He doesn't care…”

“Oh, please. You should have seen him. I…” John looked up from typing. “I glanced through the door when he didn’t come back after a few minutes. He was just sitting there, stroking your arm. And I could swear he was crying.”

“Mycroft? Crying?”

John sent of the text, his dark-blue eyes sorrowful. “It was close. Once more. Very close. You lost a lot of blood, and…”

Sherlock blanked him out. He remembered what had happened now. He was injured. So what. Nothing new here. It didn’t matter.

Mycroft had cried…? John must have misjudged that.

“He kissed you. It was very sweet.”

“He did what?”

John smiled. “Your temple. He kissed your temple. Like a big brother does.”

Sherlock closed his eyes. “Yes,” he said tonelessly. _Of course…_ Actually even this surprised him. Mycroft had not kissed him since… Well, he had never kissed him.

“Oh, he just answered. He's on his way.”

“Great.”

“Oh, do you remember that you lost your Belstaff? It wasn’t in the train.”

“Hm? Oh… I must have forgotten it at…” Sherlock stopped.

“Well, then it should be no problem. I can get it for you. Give me the address.”

“No. Don't bother.”

“Oh, please. I swear I won't say anything inappropriate to him.”

“I'm thirsty, John. Care to give me some water?”

“Oh damn, sorry. Here you go.”

*****

Sherlock looked up when the door opened after a short knock.

“Hi.” Mycroft's gaze searched his, and he slowly stepped into the room. He had something over his arm.

Sherlock's coat.

“I would have brought flowers but…” Mycroft smiled but it didn’t look very convincing. “May I come in?”

“Sure. Is John outside?”

A shadow fell over his brother's face. “No, I'm afraid he had to go home. The child. Rosamund.”

“I do know her name.” Sherlock smiled. “No amnesia.”

“So you do remember how silly you were?”

His smile died. “I don't need that now.”

“Nobody needed all this!” Mycroft came closer and put the coat over one of the chairs. “What were you thinking? Provoking four guys who clearly meant violence?”

“Spare me this preaching now. I'm fine. Tomorrow I'll go home.”

“No, you won't. You'll have to stay here for at least three more days and then you'll come to me.”

“To you? You're gone all day, what…”

“I'll take a few days off. Which means I'll be working from home.” Mycroft sat down on the other chair next to Sherlock's bed. “Only if an emergency arises, I will go to the office. Then Mrs Hudson will come over. It's all set.”

“But I can as well go to Baker Street then.”

“No, you can't. I won't allow it. I want you under my roof.”

“Under your control you mean.”

“Sherlock, you nearly died, do you get that?”

Only now Sherlock noticed the dark shadows under his brother's eyes. He was dressed perfectly as always but his hair wasn't quite as accurate and he had shaved rather sloppily.

“Yes,” Sherlock mumbled. “Sorry.”

To his surprise, Mycroft took hold of his hand, holding it between his own. “Don't do that again, you hear me? Please take care of yourself.”

“Okay. I know, family disgrace and all, upsetting Mummy…”

“She doesn’t know it. The media was convinced to stay quiet. Of course – it might come up in the internet sooner or later but maybe we're lucky and nobody tells them.”

“Don't be naïve. Of course it will come out and they should hear it from us.”

“If you want that, of course. I’ll call her later. But that wasn't what I meant.”

“Hm?”

“What you just said. _I_ need you to take care of yourself, little brother.”

The tenderness in his voice sent shivers down Sherlock's spine. He couldn’t…?

Mycroft's hand reached into his coat pocket and he presented Sherlock… a pair of black pants. “I'm afraid I didn’t… you know… Wasn't quite in the mood for it. Will wait for you. But I thought you might want to have them as a reminder…” He stuffed them under Sherlock's pillow.

Sherlock couldn’t help but smile even though it hurt his lips but he cautiously asked, “A reminder of our deal?”

“Forget this stupid deal!”

Sherlock slightly shied away from the sudden rage in his brother's voice.

Mycroft immediately pressed his hand. “Sorry. But…”

“If you don't want to continue with our deal, then why did you bring…”

“Listen… Just listen to me, okay?” Then he stood up. “Just a second.” He walked to the door, poked his head outside and then he came back.

“Planning to seduce me?” Sherlock couldn’t resist asking.

Mycroft gave him a wry smile when he sat down again. “I'd say that's out of the question for a while… Not very smart, boy!”

Sherlock grinned a bit and after a moment, Mycroft grinned back.

“Now listen, and don't… Don't laugh.”

“I won't,” Sherlock said softly. He had deduced what Mycroft was about to tell him and even though he couldn’t believe he would really do that, the very last thing he felt like was laughing now.

“Well, let's make it swift. I was an idiot. An imbecile. The stupidest…”

“I get the picture, Mycroft.”

“Yeah, sorry. When I saw you there, almost on the other side… again… I realised why… I refused to acknowledge my feelings for you. Feelings beyond brotherly care or… desire…”

Sherlock finally understood. “You were afraid that… you'd lose me?”

“Yes. And not entirely unjustified, hm?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose. I never do,” Sherlock mumbled but his heart was beating fast. His chest was hurting of course but his heart was somehow feeling a lot better than only a few minutes ago.

“I know. And I know this is the full package of Sherlock Holmes. The smart and the reckless, the handsome and the annoying, the sexy and the unbearable and so much more. It's all you. And I… love you.” The last words had come out rather quiet and… shy… But genuine for sure.

Sherlock swallowed. His heart was making some crazy jumps now. But he had to be sure. “Because I'm your little brother and you have to care about me in a way, right?”

 _Your loss would break my heart_ , echoed through his mind.

Mycroft leaned closer to him. “You'll always be my little brother; nothing will change that. But now you're also the man I want and the man I love. You're everything. The complete total package. Oh, please, don't cry!”

“Sorry, sentiments…” Sherlock wiped over his face, wincing when he touched the bruises.

“Sod that, Sherlock. For you I'm willing to learn to do sentiments. Just don't… you know… expect me to change completely. I'll never play tea party with John's daughter or dance around the Christmas tree with Mrs Hudson. They are your friends and it's fine with me, but that's not me. For me it's all just about you.”

Not that this would be possible anyway – Mycroft joining his Baker Street family. Not without giving them away and this couldn’t happen. Mycroft should stay the Iceman for everybody else. Actually Sherlock liked this idea. “I'm glad.” Then he scowled. “Oh God, it sucks…”

“What? What's wrong?”

“Now you would kiss me, wouldn’t you? And we can't because my lips feel like someone hit me on them because, well, someone did hit me…”

And then Mycroft bent forward and brushed the gentlest kiss on his sore mouth. “Don't worry, dear. You'll heal soon and then we can kiss until we both get dizzy.”

“You're sure? You won't change your mind when I'm not hurt and vulnerable anymore but my nasty self?”

Mycroft stroked over his manhandled face. “I love your nasty self, Sherlock. Everything about you.”

“And I can still, you know, do things with your pants?”

“I'll buy hundreds of them so you can have your way with them all day and night if you want to. And of course I'll soil them for you thoroughly.”

“I'm so… happy…” But Sherlock also still felt very weak and his head seemed to get very heavy all at once.

Mycroft realised it at once. “I'll better let you rest now. I'll be back in the evening, okay? You can text me whenever you want. Your phone is here.” He gestured at the nightstand.

“Yes. That's fine.” He smiled when he felt another kiss brushed on his mouth. “Oh, Mycroft,” he held him back when he turned to leave.

The older man stopped. “Yes?”

“I do too. Love you, I mean. I love you.” He had told him this before but it had not been in a very nice way, had it?

Mycroft had never looked less like an Iceman when he beamed at Sherlock. “Thank you. I always knew that. Idiot, you know.”

“You're not. You're the smart one.”

“Now I know you are not okay, Sherlock.” Mycroft winked and then he was gone after a tender goodbye.

*****

When Sherlock woke up, he wasn't alone. John was sitting on the chair next to the bed, scribbling something in a notebook.

“Oh, hi! How are you?” He put the book away and patted Sherlock's hand.

“Okay, I think. Better. Talking hurts a tad.”

“I can imagine. But the swelling is going down.” John put his hand on Sherlock's face. “The bruises will stay a little longer. But you know that of course. Mr- _I-Love-To-Whip-Corpses_.”

“Don't make me laugh!” Sherlock complained.

“Sorry. Guess Mycroft will come back soon.”

“God, did I sleep so long?” Yes. It was already getting dark.

“You needed it. So… You're okay with staying at his house until you're recovered?”

“Yes. It's rather luxurious. Are you okay with it?”

“Of course. You need your rest and no clients barging in all the time, let alone reporters. And I can't take any time off at work right now. So that's the best solution.”

“Fine.” Had there been a strange undertone in John's voice? Sherlock couldn’t really say. Apparently rather severe injuries were not good for one's deduction skills.

“Your coat is here,” John stated, clearly not noticing it only now.

Oh, fuck… His brain had really not worked very well since he'd woken up. And it showed him more than anything else how disturbed his brother had been, too shaken to think of the implications. “Yes, um, Mycroft went there and got it.” Which was true of course.

John nodded. “Nice of him.” He looked into Sherlock's eyes and the detective didn’t even need his unique skills to see that he had figured it out.

“Oh fuck…”

“It's alright.”

“Is it?” Had John really understood what this was about?

“Yes. I saw how much you mean to him. No matter how… annoying he behaves sometimes. Always actually… He does care very much for you.”

“Oh John… And I thought I mean nothing to him…” That wasn’t quite right; he had known that Mycroft cared for him as a brother, but it had not been in the way he had wished for.

“Really, Sherlock? It was always clear to me that behind this mask of ice, he is a total softie when it comes to you.”

“No, it wasn’t like this…” Or had it been?! Had they both just always missed it? “Damn…”

“It's alright. Better don't mention it to him. That I know about you. Being more than brothers.”

“You know that's pointless… He will deduce it after one look at you.”

“Oh, yes. Well, then please let him know I will never give you away, and that it's all fine.”

Sherlock smiled. “You said that to me on the first day.”

“Yes. I recall. And I meant it.”

“Even if it's my brother?”

“Even then. I know you in good hands with him. The best actually. Even though… you had a row before this happened, right?”

Sherlock sighed. “Yes. It was… very complicated. But now it's all good.”

“Great. But now tell me… What the hell did you do in your room yesterday?”

Had it only been yesterday? It seemed like ages ago. “No, John. You really don't want to know!”

“But I do! It had something to do with him, right?”

“Of course it did. Really, you would be disgusted.”

“Never. Sex isn’t a foreign concept to me as you should know. Okay, I don't know anything about gay sex from own experience and it's a tad disturbing to imagine Mycroft without trousers but still…”

“Okay, but I warned you. I… He… Damn…” Sherlock carefully turned around. “There's something under my pillow. Would you get it?” It was better to put it elsewhere anyway before a nurse pulled it out when she made the bed…

“What… Oh, that's his one?”

“Yes.”

“So you… used one to… masturbate yesterday?”

“Mm-hm. But it was a little different. It was not that… dry…”

“Oh bloody hell! That's why you had sperm in your face!” John started to giggle, his cheeks flushed.

So were Sherlock's but he figured that under all his bruises, it wouldn’t be visible anyway… And even if it was, he really didn’t care. “Quite so…” Mycroft wouldn’t be delighted if he overheard this conversation… But then – he wouldn't change his Iceman manners towards John and the others. And Sherlock would keep them as friends. Status quo except for their relationship. A real one this time… And of course John would help him hiding it from the others who should really better not know it.

“That's a hot kink, Sherlock… Pretty hardcore and a tad disturbing but hot. And he gave them to you?”

“These ones, yes, but in the beginning he didn’t exactly give them to me. It has quite a long history... And then he caught me and that's how it started.”

“When you were at your parents' house lately.”

“Yes, exactly. Want to hear the story?” He felt he could share it with John. Mycroft would understand. Everything had changed, and it felt so bloody good.

“You can bet on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems I can't write John other than being supportive anymore. But I think that's how he should be.  
> One more short epilogue to follow.


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short, sappy conclusion.

“You're comfortable?”

Sherlock smiled. “Very.”

“Here you go.”

He took the cup out of his brother's hand and then snuggled against his shoulder when Mycroft had sat down next to him on the couch. He closed his eyes when he felt him resting his cheek against his face.

He drank and then laid his free hand on his brother's thigh, gently rubbing to and fro.

“Don't start anything you can't finish,” Mycroft mumbled against his temple.

“Who said I can't?”

“Every sane individual and certainly Doctor Watson.”

Sherlock grinned. “Which means he isn’t…”

“No. He's living with you. He can't be.”

“I see.” Sherlock turned his head and after a moment, Mycroft kissed him on the lips. “I need sex, brother,” the younger man said. “Lots of.”

“So do I. But let's wait another two days. We can't risk the wound opening up.”

He groaned but he knew his brother was right. “Ah, alright, Doctor Mycroft.”

“Mmm, that sounds nice.”

And it was all so nice.

Mycroft had swallowed when Sherlock had told him that John knew about them and was on their side, and he had to swear to him nobody else would ever find out. Well, of course that was not entirely in Sherlock's power and Mycroft knew that very well, but he had assured his big brother that it would all be fine.

The first meeting of Mycroft and John next to Sherlock's hospital bed had been more than a little awkward but in the end Mycroft had seemed to accept that they had nothing to fear from the man who was Sherlock's best friend. He knew Mycroft would never like the doctor but that was okay. Both men accepted the other one in Sherlock's life, and he was grateful for that.

He reached out for Mycroft's hand. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being there.”

“Oh, you sentimental little mop-head.” But Sherlock could hear the smile and the tenderness in the voice of the man who wasn't quite the Iceman he thought he was, and he smiled, too.

*****

“Okay, but you won't move! You just lie there and let me do the job! If you move, I'll stop at once.”

“Yes, yes, please. I promise. And keep your pants on.”

Mycroft pressed a kiss on Sherlock's stomach. “Pervert.”

“Guilty as charged. Now please, suck me!”

Mycroft would have wanted to wait another day or two, afraid having sex could damage Sherlock in any way, but he had come to the conclusion that it was better to finish him off – and he knew his brother wouldn't last long – than to have him suffer from his wish to find relief. Sherlock had been so patient and had hardly pouted the last couple of days and he deserved being taken care of now.

He gently blew over the fully hard cock presented to him and Sherlock groaned. Mycroft looked up. “Quiet, brother mine.”

“You said I can't move! You didn’t say I'm not allowed to make a sound!”

Mycroft chuckled. “Alright. But no pushing into my throat.”

“You know I'd never do that.”

“Oh, eventually, you can. Just not right now.” And then he went to work.

His eyes closed, fully concentrating on his highly arousing task, he suckled at the tip, probing with his tongue if there was already some fluid to lick up from the slit. There was and so he cleaned it out and then took Sherlock's dick in completely, the wet, slurping noises he made music to his ears.

He was hard as well, straining against the inevitable pants, and he rubbed himself through the fabric.

“Oh, God,” Sherlock groaned. “Yes, I want you to climax before me. Soak your pants. And then give them to me.”

His brother was _really_ some sort of pervert… Not that he was complaining… He grinned at the thought what all his fans out there would think about this little secret – Sherlock a sucker, quite literally actually, for Mycroft's come-stained pants…

Well, someone knew in fact. It had shocked him at first that Sherlock had shared this intimate detail with John Watson, but the damage had been done, and it had really not caused any damage. It did feel awkward to meet the doctor now and they never talked about what was going on between him and Sherlock, but it was some sort of relief that John knew and – inexplicably – was on their side. Mycroft was quite sure Sherlock had not told him what Mycroft had said about Sherrinford. He had meant it of course but for Sherlock, he was rather glad they had all made it out there alive.

Of course Sherlock had been right – his injury had not stayed a secret, and it had been for the better that they had informed their parents.

Mummy had been terrified and had called every day and had of course wanted to visit Sherlock, but Mycroft had told her that Sherlock was in the best of hands and would spend his recovery in his house, and it had delighted her to hear her sons were getting along well enough for that now. Of course their parents were the very last persons to find out how _much_ better they were getting along… Mycroft was quite sure they would both suffer a stroke if they could see them now… and hear them…

“Oh, fuck, yes, suck me, lick me out, chew on my foreskin…” came as a nearly unconscious stream of filth from Sherlock's beautiful mouth.

The deep, sexy voice of his brother, his musky taste and his cock in his throat, getting bigger with every second or so it seemed, and his own hand roughly pumping his dick through the pants drove Mycroft over the edge and he came with a muffled moan.

“Stop!” Sherlock uttered and Mycroft let his throbbing cock slide out of his mouth, still shivering from his orgasm.

“Take them off! Put them onto my face!”

“Oh dear, Sherlock…” He grinned and shook his head.

“Come on!” Sherlock threatened to come up.

“You stay still! Alright! I'll give you your fetish.” He hastily took his pants off, trying to ignore the squishy noise it made.

“Oh yes, now, right over my mouth. Oooh… Suck me now…” The last words came out a little muffled and then Mycroft got to hear some _really_ squishy noises… Oh, Mummy would be so proud…

“My cute little degenerate. Have fun.” And with this he returned to blow his brother which was a short pleasure as Sherlock pumped his seed into his throat only thirty seconds later while still frantically chewing on the pants.

Mycroft gently licked his dick clean while Sherlock did the same with the underwear.

“Well,” he said when he had pulled the piece of clothing out of his brother's mouth. “Seems they are like new now, thanks very much, but your face definitely needs a cleansing… I’ll get a cloth.”

“You could clean me with your t…”

“No, Sherlock.”

*****

“Hi.”

Sherlock turned around and saw Mycroft coming out to him on the veranda, carrying a plate. “Hi, big boy. What's that?”

“Just some fruit and cheese. Thought we could have a snack here.”

“Great, thank you.” Sherlock took a neat piece of melon. “Very good.”

Mycroft sat down next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. High bushes were hiding them from any possible curious looks so Sherlock knew it was safe. Actually there were no direct neighbours, which was very convenient. “You okay?”

“I'm completely fit, brother mine. Which means…”

“Yes. A night full of passion.”

“Can't wait. Did you get everything done?”

“Yes. I should do that more often, working from home. No annoying people around me.”

“Except for me.”

“That’s a given. Well…”

Sherlock nodded. He would return to Baker Street soon enough. Had to. His job was happening there, and he hadn't solved a case for ten days now. It was time to get back in the saddle as they said. But he wouldn’t want to miss out getting in some other sort of saddle as often as possible.

“We'll still meet very often, Sherlock. And since John knows it, I can drop by during the day from time to time if we're both free. It'll be fine.”

“I know it will. It's still like a dream.”

“I know what you mean. Never thought I'd become one of these sentimental creatures, declaring their love all the time, being all sweet and cuddly and embarrassing…”

Sherlock grinned. “It's not quite like this, you know.” Mycroft was still Mycroft, even though indeed a softer version when it came to Sherlock. And towards others, nothing seemed to have changed; Sherlock had heard him doing business on the phone quite often the last couple of days. Mycroft continued to be the Iceman and he didn’t mind at all. Hearing him being all cold and snarky and smug was actually a turn-on for Sherlock as of course his big brother was not like that in dealing with him which made him feel pretty special, and he knew they would never return to the coldness of the early days of their deal.

“I want to top you,” he said bluntly now. Overstep the last mark, make him truly his. His cock jumped to attention at once at this thought.

“Oh, really? Make me your slut? Let your big prick slide in and out of my virgin hole, make me squeal and hiss your name?”

“Better stop now, Mycroft, or…” His hand just had to sneak to his bulge, rubbing himself to the sound of his brother's seductive voice.

“You will prepare me with your tongue then, right, and then put your long fingers into me, rubbing in lots of lube, and then you will impale me, pounding into me, let your groin clash against my pert arse; can't you hear the noises already? And then…”

“Oh, fuck, oh, Mycroft…” he brought out while feeling several strong spurts of come leaving his twitching cock, soaking his pants.

Mycroft laughed next to him. “Oh, nice. But no, Sherlock.”

“What do you mean - no?”

“You can top me of course but I won't suck your pants out!”

Sherlock was still giggling when Mycroft pulled him onto his lap, kissing his eyebrow, and chuckled against his temple.

This was happiness. It had begun with stolen pants and pain and had ended in sheer bliss.

The End

 


End file.
